Page 5 of The One Bed Rule
Jess continues, “We’ve got a full kitchen with a ton of ingredients. Feel free to help yourself like it’s your own home. Our cook couldn’t stay, but he did make a pot of soup and fresh bread.” She leads us past the kitchen and my mouth waters at the thought of food. In our rush at the airport, we didn’t even think about stopping to eat.
We reach our room and Jess clicks a key in the lock, swinging the door open. “Here’s your key. Help yourself to anything you need. Snack basket is on the table for you, water and a few beverages are in the mini fridge. The lounge downstairs has some books, board games. There’s an espresso machine at your disposal if you know how to work it.” Jess laughs, shrugging her shoulders, clearly letting us know she wouldn’t know what to do with it.
Damn. This might not be so bad. Hopefully we can just stay tonight and get back to the city tomorrow, but this will definitely work. I roll our luggage over to a closet, where gray fluffy robes hang.
“Extra pillows and blankets in there.” Jess points to the closet and rubs her arms with her hands. “Like I said, this place isn’t winterized yet and the wind is fierce. It’s going to be cooler in here tonight than I’d like.” She looks around the room, which is honestly pretty charming; now that she mentions it, it’s not allthat warm. Rubbing her hands together, she asks, “Anything I can do for you?”
“Do you by chance have any wine?” Claire asks, a worn smile on her lips.
Five
Claire
Idrinkmyfirstglass of champagne way too fast as I sit back on the bed. I’m still wearing Seth’s shirt over my outfit, and typically I’d be cringing at the idea of my plane clothes touching the bed, but I don’t have it in me.
Jess brought up a bottle of champagne and a bottle of white she slipped in the mini fridge. For being out in the middle of nowhere, this place is kind of cute. Cozy. Unique.
Seth sits next to me, looking at the weather on his phone. From here, all I see is a big blue blob on the radar that doesn’t seem to dissipate, no matter how long Seth watches it.
“Damn. Not sure when this will let up,” he says, quiet and almost to himself.
He takes up much more of this bed than I thought he would, but there’s a thin gap of white between us.
“Food? Shower? What do you need?”
The way he asks me the question scratches my brain in the best way. It’s like I can let go of a little bit of the tension takingresidence in every muscle fiber. He’s the one who braved the roads yet here he is, asking me what I need.
When my stomach rumbles, Seth doesn’t miss a beat. “Food. Let’s do it.” He stands and grabs the room key. Our room is big enough, but he consumes more space than I expected—not in a negative way. His shoulders are wide, pushing tight against the fabric of his undershirt. I’m a fucking fashion icon with my Chanel slacks and matching vest, red bottom heels, and a men’s athleisure top.
My phone buzzes—a reminder about my dinner reservation for tonight. I reply, letting them know I won’t make it, and then it starts to hit me. My birthday plans? Completely derailed. The thing I’ve been looking forward to for so long has spun out of my control.
We make our way down the long hallway, peering out of the few windows scattered along the way. Night is in full force, the lightness of the snow trying to show through. A patterned runner grabs my attention beneath my feet—bold colors are the perfect vibe for the dark walls and wood. This is the kind of place I’m hoping to find when looking for a spot to stay–charming, unique, and afraid of beige.
Seth takes the lead in the kitchen, warming up the soup on the stove and easily moving around to find bowls and spoons. Typically, this would be me—leading the charge, making the decisions, and executing a plan. Instead, I lean on the counter, watching Seth move about the kitchen.
I swear, there’s this permanent smirk that lives on his lips—one side playfully pulled up. His shoulders are broad, his muscles flex while he works, and he’s light on his feet. When he puts his hand through his hair, pulling at the side of his neck, tilting his head as he stretches, it feels like there’s sandpaper in my mouth.
I need another drink.
As I’m trying to swallow past the grit in my throat, Seth turns around and announces, “I’ve got the soup. You grab the bread?”
I nod, grab the plate of fresh bread—it’s still warm from the oven—and the butter dish, following Seth into the dining room. Turning the corner, I almost stop when it comes into view. Candles are lit throughout the room, almost making it feel like it’s glowing. The flames sparkle and reflect from a bay window, snow piling up on the other side.
The lights flicker as I sit in front of the bowl, steam rolling off the top.
“Candles are for more than the vibes, I’m guessing,” Seth says, pulling his chair closer to the table. His forearms rest on the table and I have to remind myself not to stare.
It’s clear: I need to get laid. It’s been so long that I’m drooling over this poor man without him even knowing it. My insides clench as I think about the new vibrator waiting for me at home—a birthday treat to myself. Another part of my plan that will have to wait.
“So, what were your plans tonight?” Seth interrupts my thoughts.
Too quick, I defend, “What do you mean? What plans?” I grab a piece of the bread and try to hide the flush reaching my cheeks.
He turns, giving me a side eye and says, “Your birthday?”
Ah, he’s just being a normal human, picking up standard cues. Clearly, I need to get a grip.
I put my spoon in the soup, cheddar cheese and bacon on the top, and some sort of potato situation underneath. Stirring, I watch the cheese melt and say, “Tonight was dinner at one of my favorite spots. I’ll reschedule. Tomorrow, I had a whole spa day planned. It’s been booked for six months because that’s how long it takes to get an appointment.”
